


Like a Bird Set Free

by WrithingBeneathYou



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gods and Goddesses, Izuna was not cut out for this, M/M, divinity in dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 19:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19184482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrithingBeneathYou/pseuds/WrithingBeneathYou
Summary: Tobirama is no suiton user. He's a divinity borne of the water itself—the embodiment of a power that knew the earth when it was new. He’s a god in a man’s form.And Izuna...Izuna islost.





	Like a Bird Set Free

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt fill for the [2019 Naruto Rare Pair Bingo](https://naruto-rarepair-bingo.tumblr.com/) event taking place over on Tumblr. 
> 
> Board A, "Gods and Goddesses."

Blood boiling like pitch, Izuna darts through the underbrush and scales the bole of a large tree. Every stride brings him that much closer to victory. Closer to Tobirama. The Senju’s defeat is such a sure, savory promise on his tongue that he can’t stop grinning even as his lungs burn for breath.

Leaves cling to his bare feet and mud squelches between his toes. Stones dig into his arches, but he can’t feel the pain through the sheer joy blaring in his ears and drowning out all other sensation.

The gods’ favor shines on him as surely as the sun filtering through the canopy. 

It had been a whim to stop in a quaint town purported to be sacred to the fire god, Akula, on his way back from the Land of Hot Water. Prayers spilled from his lips and offerings from his pockets in honor of the old ways. No matter how the world evolved, the Uchiha clan did not forget and he was the most fastidious among them in that respect. In return for his unerring devotion, the god saw fit to bless him with insight in the form of an apothecary’s wares. There, he happened upon the most sophisticated chakric signature suppression tonic he had ever seen. In an instant, Izuna dropped every last ryo he had into the wide-eyed proprietor’s hand and left with a flask of possibility more precious than any tangible good.

Izuna laughs at the memory of his good fortune and bursts through a wet bundle of branches. Tobirama’s chakra signature flares behind his ribs, brilliant and gloriously alone. It moves constantly, like a waterspout, but stays within the same area, never straying. 

His worst enemy, alone and unsuspecting of the katana aimed toward his heart—Izuna, a silent predator with the element of surprise and celestial intervention on his side. He was fated to prevail.

A league away, Izuna begins to hear an upraised voice even over the pounding of his own heart. It’s powerful and haunting in ways that dig soul-deep. The familiar feel of it pulls him up short. He stumbles to a slow trot and eventually stills in the shadow of a great elm.

It takes a moment to get his breathing under control, but when he does, he unsheathes his tanto from the small of his back and navigates the next stretch of forest with care. The baritone voice is a constant companion to which he matches his stride. He steps as it rises and stills when it falls.

Finally, the epicenter of that heart-rending melody and Tobirama’s chakric call merge into one shining image of a man so beatific it steals his breath. Izuna slowly eases down to kneel behind the trunk of a yew tree and settles in to watch. The brush envelopes him, all but for the pale moon of his face, slack-jawed in wonder.

Everything he’s ever observed or been told of Tobirama’s austerity and callous nature is a lie. No man could move with this degree of supple grace, nor sing with such unbridled passion if he truly lacked a heart. This is a powerful outpouring of emotion, strong enough to outshine the stars. Absolutely arresting. 

Poised on the surface of the river, Tobirama stands tall and glorious in his nudity, head thrown back and mouth open wide. Another long, rich note flows from his lips and is joined by rising skeins of water. They glide around his legs with each lithe twist and spin. The long line of his body is an embodiment of the river, all perfectly choreographed fluidity, never overflowing the banks laid out by the melody of his song. The muscles of his back ripple with each roll of his hips and his buttocks dimple as he lifts his leg in a smooth arabesque. Between breaths, he uses his torso as a counterbalance and drops down, rotates in an impossible wave of skill that has Izuna’s eyes burning with the power of the Sharingan.

Red seals glow across Tobirama’s outstretched arms and coalesce towards the center of his chest. They flicker and thrum in time with his rhythm, as do the ever-shifting sheets of water levitating around him. As the song hits a crescendo, an instrumental accompaniment laps up the river banks and threatens to pull Izuna under.

The divine music fills his heart, eases the trepidation from his soul. His eyes ache with unshed emotion.

This is the stuff of gods. Tobirama is the epicenter of something well and truly divine. Each cupped hand is an altar and the roll of his stomach is a prayer answered. Izuna wants nothing more than to whisper tender offerings into the pale arch of his neck and bow at the shrine of his song. Everything he is screams for him to give up all of himself in worship.

Tobirama is no suiton user. He's a divinity borne of the water itself—the embodiment of a power that knew the earth when it was new.

He’s a god in a man’s form. An avatar.

Overwhelmed, Izuna’s tears begin to fall in earnest.

He has no other option than to forgo his cover and navigate a narrow game trail towards where his god shimmers beneath veils of water. The tanto in his hand falls from numb fingers. Half blinded by his tears, he doesn’t realize that Tobirama has stilled, even if his partnering wave hasn’t.

Izuna quickly rips off the sheath of his katana—throws it into the underbrush as if it burns—then reaches for his obi. Mind too caught up in the flickering of light on the river, he fumbles several times before he can get the knot undone. His mantle comes next, but he gets caught in the high collar as he tries to tear it off over his head.

He hisses angrily, not at the shame of fighting his own clothing like a child, but for being deprived of even a moment of Tobirama’s dance. Finally, he manages to break free of it and wriggle out of his chain-mail undershirt. Bare-chested and devoid of weapons, he unrolls a strip of linen from his shin and deftly wraps it around his head to cover the one threat he can never remove from his person.

The song stops.

Izuna mourns its loss immediately. When the soil beneath his feet turns soft, he collapses to his knees.

He touches his forehead to the rich forest loam and reaches out in supplication. Sure to keep his hands flat—showing that even with his substantial repertoire of jutsu, he submits completely—Izuna lowers his arms to the ground and waits. Be it death or deliverance, he awaits Tobirama’s verdict with bated breath. He yearns to hear the music of his god’s voice carving out a space around the shape of his name.

There’s a long beat of silence. A light breeze caresses the back of his bare neck. He can just barely hear the sound of footsteps on the water’s surface, the slight swish as the current diverts around them. Trembling in both awe and anticipation, Izuna fights the instinct to crawl forward and meet him. He knows Tobirama will take any movement as preparation of an attack, and nothing could be further from the truth.  

Crunching leaves grow closer, then there’s the full weight of a grown man standing on his hands and making the bones grind. Izuna clenches his teeth, curling up and exposing the back of his neck that much more.

“Do you have a death wish, Uchiha,” Tobirama asks, all flat affect and rolling thunder. Though, there’s a hint of melodiousness in his rolling baritone now that Izuna knows to listen for it.

Izuna inhales deeply, smells the moisture in the dark soil. “If that’s what you want, lord, I’ll happily sit at the knee of the shinigami for you,” he says, not ashamed of the tremor in his voice.

There’s a pause, only broken by the sound of their breathing.

“You’re either drunk or under a genjutsu. I’m no lord,” Tobirama replies, again without inflection. His weight shifts slightly, bringing forth another bright shock of pain.

Izuna gasps. “You’re god-touched. That makes you more a lord than the daimyo.”

Tobirama huffs and lowers down to sit on his haunches, still balancing on Izuna’s hands. He takes up the long ponytail and wraps it around his palm several times, wrenches Izuna’s head back so far he wheezes.

“What are you doing here, Uchiha? Why can’t I sense you?”

His breath feels like a springhead against Izuna’s face, clear and cold. In its wake, Tobirama’s fingers follow with even greater chill to brush off the smudges of dirt on his forehead and pluck errant leaves from his hair.

Izuna shudders under the delicate touches. “It’s a signature suppressant,” he admits, cheeks gaining color at the admission of his duplicity. “I set out to…to do something sacrilegious. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. All this time, I had no idea.”

“You thought me alone and vulnerable and came here to kill me,” Tobirama surmises neatly, filling in the words left unsaid.

“No!” Izuna chokes out as loudly as he can. “No. I couldn’t. I can’t. I would never purposefully attack an avatar!”

That garners a sharp bark of laughter, quickly controlled. Though, when Tobirama speaks, there’s an obvious note of lingering bemusement.

“Oh? And yet that was exactly your intention, Uchiha Izuna. So, what could you possibly have to offer me to make up for what you now realize was a very, very bad idea?” he drawls, flicking at a haphazard lock of hair.

Izuna swallows heavily. For all the nights he’s laid awake planning for a moment exactly like this—coming face to face with the gods he so worships—his wits fail him. His cleverness means nothing in light of the power that crests over and through him with such unmitigated force.

When he speaks, it’s with little force of his own. “For Tobirama, I can ensure a ceasefire come morning. The elders won’t refuse you. _ I _ won’t refuse you, Lord Senju. For the god in you, I don’t have anything great enough to offer.” His voice trails off, growing small and so unlike his usual sly teasing. In the pause, the ache in his neck and shoulders grows more acute.

Tobirama has never been a patient man, nor a very forgiving one.

“You’re a fool for not striking me down when you had the chance. For all that I am, a portion of that is still your mortal enemy,” he reminds Izuna, sharpening the words on his teeth.

“Not if I order a ceasefire in your name,” Izuna reiterates desperately. There’s little concern for his personal well-being in the entreaty. If required, he’ll happily succumb to the Naka in sacrifice to its tempestuous god. But, he knows peace is what Hashirama has been fighting for this entire time, what Tobirama endorses in his own way. He wants so badly to give it to them, to venerate the divinity Tobirama’s body houses.   

“And Akula will not take exception to this?” Tobirama asks, raking a fingernail over the raised edge of a scar on Izuna’s shoulder—one he himself put there years ago. A heavy swirl of chakra sweeps over them, reminiscent of shadows in the deep ocean.

“Lord, she favors us, but the Uchiha honor all gods as is your due,” Izuna replies quickly and in no uncertain terms as he swallows the lingering flavor of brine.  

Tobirama eases his weight more fully onto one foot and—blinded though he is—Izuna can imagine the downturn of his lips and the narrow-eyed consideration that crinkles his nose like a rabbit. Not even the agony in his hand is enough to pull his attention from the crystal-clear memory.

Tobirama smoothes his palm over Izuna’s bare shoulder and maps the definition of his arm. “So I see,” he retorts, snorting derisively. “And how will you, specifically, honor me? All of your pretty promises are meaningless if you don’t have a life to carry them out with. And I must say, mortal or not, you’ve been a particularly irksome pain in my ass, Izuna.”  

Izuna pulls his knees under him more fully and arches his back as much as he can with his movements limited by Tobirama’s fist in his hair. Baring his throat has never felt so natural. “If you want my life, I’ll give you that. And my devotion, and anything else you would ask for,” he rasps, knowing his offering is nowhere near enough. “A shrine, a hundred of them, my clan’s prayers. Anything.” Another tear navigates its way from the sodden linen binding his eyes, down the already dry tracks of salt. His stomach aches for knowing that he has found his god and can’t do anything to keep him.

“You’re right, you don’t have anything great enough to satisfy me. Those are paltry offerings,” Tobirama says, exhaling heavily. “But, it’s rare to find humans who remember the old ways.” He tugs Izuna’s ponytail one last time, then eases his head back to the ground.

There’s a soft whoosh of air and the weight is lifted from Izuna’s bruised hands. He grimaces as the muscles and bone protest, but remains still, straining his attention towards each and every shuffle of leaf as Tobirama makes his way back to the river. Sweat rolls down his spine as he waits.

At the first splash, Tobirama’s voice crests over him. “Get up and finish undressing. You’ve distracted me long enough. As recompense, you’ll assist me in blessing the Naka. ”

Nodding furiously, Izuna staggers upright on legs long since gone paresthetic. He stumbles in his haste to tear off his pants and the wraps securing them to his shins. Soon after, his fundoshi follows and he blindly picks his way across the bank to where he can hear water lapping against rock.

As soon as he’s ankle deep, the current buoys him up from below, washing the dirt from his feet and meeting each step with solidity. Suddenly, there’s a cool hand slipping into his and he holds tight to it, following Tobirama unerringly to the middle of the river.

His steps are steady, even on the shifting surface, until Tobirama makes such an abrupt stop that Izuna crashes into him. A firm grip on his upper arm drags him back upright and near flush with Tobirama’s chest in the process.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, holding his hands up in placation.

“I told you to undress entirely. There is no need for this.”

Tobirama eases the wrap from Izuna’s eyes and tosses it to swim listlessly among the fish. Blinking rapidly, Izuna squints up at him without allowing his eyes time to adjust to the sudden infiltration of sunlight. Every glimpse is a gift he doesn’t want to miss.

“You’ve always been so beautiful,” he admits out of nowhere, unable to fight a smile. It’s not the sneer that he would typically aim towards Tobirama, nor is it the teasing grin he gives when he lands a blow. Instead, there’s nothing but innocent wonder so strong it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.

Tobirama holds Izuna’s face in his hands and brushes at the laugh lines with his thumbs. “It’s off-putting to have you this complacent,” he admits. “No snide commentary, no bloated claims or threats.”

Bolstered by the blessing of Tobirama’s lips against his forehead, Izuna laughs and dares to settle his hands on Tobirama’s hips. When the god fails to strike him down for the insult, he runs his palms along the firm lines of his Apollo’s belt, swallowing heavily at the bulge of muscle above the furrow and stopping just shy of more interesting things. “I could go back to being an asshole if that’s what you want, but I wouldn’t mean any of it.” 

Tobirama watches him with little more than a single raised eyebrow.

“Hardly necessary,” he scoffs. “Though your easy capitulation makes me wonder. From my experience, men don’t give without the expectation of something in return. What is the price of your devotion, I wonder.”

“What? Nothing,” Izuna blurts out, eyes wide, and completely aghast at the implication.

The temperature of Tobirama’s skin dips, turns as cool as the ambient temperature of the Naka beneath them. There’s a moment where Izuna swears he can hear the water itself whisper, then Tobirama laughs, voice like an undertow. “The Naka tells me that you yourself want to be god-touched, Izuna.”

He ignores Izuna’s sputtered denials.

“It says you wish to be god-kissed,” Tobirama continues, red eyes narrowed to slits in his mirth, “God-fucked. Is that the truth of it? Is that why you would give in so readily to the idea of bending for the man who has cut down your kin?”

Izuna’s brow pinches and his mouth works around words that won’t come. It takes a couple of tries before he can speak. “You’re a god! It’s not my place to question why you do the things you do, no matter how much it hurts. And it’s not my place to want anything,” he chokes out. Though, despite his claims to the contrary, his body echoes the truth of the river’s conclusions.

Tobirama nods and presses another kiss to Izuna’s forehead, lips pulled tight in a smug grin. A bloom of chakra unfurls and flows though Izuna like a cold shower. He squawks and instinctively tries to pull away, but Tobirama snatches him around the waist and moves to press against his back.

“I expect that peace accord on brother’s desk before the sun rises tomorrow,” Tobirama rumbles into his ear, then frees the leather tie on Izuna’s ponytail with his teeth. The waterfall of hair tumbles across their shoulders just as the river begins to rise up from below. “Now sing.”

“Huh?” Izuna grunts, chest tight as the air around them begins to thrum.

The kinetic potential breaks on an orotund note as Tobirama takes up a different melody than the one before. It’s simpler and more intuitive in terms of its flow, but no less moving for it.

Izuna clings tight to the backs of Tobirama’s hands and jolts when he starts to move. If the roll of his body was breath-taking from his perch on the river-bank, Izuna doesn’t know how to describe the sublimity of having him so close.

In his periphery, long threads of water begin to weave through the air, cresting once more on the baritone moors of Tobirama’s voice. A splash against his chest eases right into the heart of him.  _ Sing, _ Tobirama commands without words.

Izuna snaps his eyes shut and leans his head back, bonelessly giving himself up to his god. His tenor hesitantly joins Tobirama’s song, a beat behind and not entirely on key. However, the flow of their bodies brings them into sync and lends strength to the simple, repeated refrain.

As Izuna’s confidence grows, Tobirama guides him into more complicated steps, never completely breaking the intimacy of skin touching skin. Together, they sway and spin across the river’s surface. The harmony of their melody grows more intricate as well, working up to a fever pitch that has Izuna’s heart racing and his loins turgid with the ache of pent up need.

Their song reaches a crescendo that makes his vision white out. Through it all, Tobirama holds his wrist firmly and rides the knife edge of a wave that brings them crashing together with all the inevitability of the tide. Izuna gasps in a lungful of water at the feel of countless wet hands all across his body. He tries to cough, to expel the river that burns so brightly, but Tobirama’s mouth is upon him and the pain of drowning has never been such a sweet thing. Around them, the melody continues to envelop the forest, plays on like a thing possessed.

He’s sinking, deeper and deeper until he breaks on the cusp of something divine.

In that moment, he embraces the death his god demanded from the start. 

The music shatters around them.  

***

Waking is a slow, arduous process. Sunlight filters down through the canopy as Izuna floats contentedly in the shallows. He smiles into the warmth of it, bobbing on the gentle current.

This is the first time he’s ever been so truly relaxed.  

Satiated and languid, long minutes pass in the luxury of the river’s embrace and it’s only with great reluctance that he finally paddles towards the river bank. He makes for his discarded clothing on shaky legs.

There will be time for dallying later.

For now, he has a peace accord to draft and a shrine to build in the shape of a village.

 


End file.
